


Over Taken/Taken Over (Please, Let It Be Over)

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Demonic Possession, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt Tyson Brady, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: What about Brady getting possessed and doing bad stuff, but Dean turns up at Stanford and exorcises him and Sam's finally got his boyfriend back and a lot of hurt/comfort and Brady trying to get over what he did as a demon and Sam learning to forgive him omg ily pls you're perf. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Taken/Taken Over (Please, Let It Be Over)

**Author's Note:**

> Descriptions of physical injuries directly resulting from domestic abuse, as well as injuries from hunting.

This is hell. It has to be. 

Sam’s sitting on the couch, head cradled in his hands in a weak attempt to block everything out. He hears the click of the bedroom door and the scuff of Dean’s boots across the carpet. The steps halt a few feet away from him as his brother let’s out a tired sigh. 

“He’s asleep. Should be for a while. Possession really takes it out of a person.” 

Nodding, Sam scrubs his hands over his face briefly, then looks up blearily at his brother. Dean’s frowning, worried and exhausted looking. There’s a cut still trickling blood down his cheek and a bruise forming on his jaw. 

“Does that need stitches?” Sam asks quietly. 

“Nah.” Dean plops down on the couch beside him, gripping his chin and tugging it this way and that. “Sure did a number on you, huh.”

Sam knows what he’s seeing. Older bruises, the half healed cut on his bottom lip, the black eye that’s only a few days old. 

“I kicked him out,” Sam says hoarsely. “I - Jesus, Dean. I thought I’d made a mistake, that I’d been wrong about him and all this time he’s been-” 

The words choke off, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut even as the first of the tears roll down his cheeks. Dean just shushes him and pulls him close, tucking him into his shoulder like he can protect Sam from the world with just his body. He can’t, Sam knows. But Dean always tries, and right now, Sam’s more than willing to let him. 

“You didn’t know, Sammy. Hell, how could you? Not like we ever took on a demon with Dad before.”

“It was so drastic,” Sam whispers, not sure if Dean can even hear or understand him through the tears and the way his voice is muffled by his brother’s neck. “He was so sweet, so happy and after Thanksgiving he just -”

“Started knocking you around?” 

The words set off a new wave of sobs, every horrible thing Brady had said and done since then racing through Sam’s head and clashing with the knowledge that his boyfriend had been possessed by a fucking  _demon._

“Sorry, fuck, Sammy I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs, stroking Sam’s back carefully. “But man, you couldn’t have known. Far as you knew, you were getting yourself out of an - a bad situation. You can’t blame yourself for that.” 

Sam allows himself to be held, and Dean’s grip never slackens, even when the sobs have faded to tiny hitching breaths. Dean has to be ready to collapse, goodness knows Sam is, but he can’t quite find the strength to move. It’s Dean who finally manhandles him up, moving them to the second bedroom and pushing Sam onto the bed. The double bed is cramped for two guys their size, but Dean just tucks them close together, the way the had to when they were still kids. 

Sleep is a long time coming, but it does come eventually. 

Waking is the hard part. Dean is gone from the bed, and Sam can hear someone puttering in the kitchen. He drags himself up and out of the room, only to freeze in place at the sight of Brady slumped at the kitchen table. His eyes are shadowed, dark bags beneath them and his pallor is sickly pale. There’s a mug of black coffee between his hands, gripped tightly enough that Sam’s not sure the mug won’t break. 

“Sam,” Brady rasps, moving to stand up, and Sam can’t hold back the flinch. Brady’s outstretched hand drops immediately, expression shattered as he withdraws. “Sorry. Right. Jesus.” A trembling hand swipes down his face, and Brady glances toward the door. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean mutters, thunking a plate of bacon and eggs in the middle of the table along with a cup of coffee obviously meant for Sam, since Dean’s is on the counter. “You’re not leaving. You’ve been through shit, both of you, and I didn’t really have time last night to deal with it the way I should’ve. Sam. Sit.” 

Obediently, Sam takes his place at the table, grateful that Dean has placed himself at the side adjoining Brady’s. Logically, he knows that his boyfriend - his ex? - is not a threat anymore. The rest of him can’t reconcile the battered looking man across from him with the monstrous person that had been terrorizing him for weeks. 

Dean gives Brady the talk. Sam can only listen, staring into the steadily cooling murk of his coffee. He has no words to offer, not until Dean coughs, prompting him to look up. Brady’s staring at him, clearly looking for confirmation, and Sam just nods. It’s enough. 

“Sam… You know I- God. I couldn’t stop him. It, whatever, Sam -  I tried so hard to make it stop, I begged it not to -” 

“I know, Brady.” 

“But you’re still scared of me. Hell, maybe you should be,” the blonde laughs harshly. “What kind of person let’s a demon…”

“All kinds of people,” Dean interrupts him. “Good, bad, whatever. You don’t get a choice, you don’t get to fight. Nobody does, unless they know what to look for. And you didn’t.” 

“He’s right,” Sam agrees softly, forcing himself to meet blue eyes. It’s hard to lift his hand, to reach across the table and tug one of Brady’s own away from the now-cold mug, but he does it. Brady grips back like Sam’s a lifeline. There are unfamiliar callouses on his fingers, bruises on his knuckles … and Sam’s class ring. Sam can’t help but thumb over the dark blue gem in the middle, and he takes a slow breath. 

“We’ll need time.  _I’ll_  need time, Brady. But …”

“Yeah, Sam.” 

That first day is strange. It’s bizarre, having Dean lounging around their apartment, trying act like a buffer between Sam and Brady while trying to leave them room to talk if they need it. There are crappy sitcoms and telenovelas that fill the quiet, and each of them sneak off to the bedrooms to nap in turn. 

They sleep in separate rooms again that night, Dean crashing on the couch once Sam’s assured him he’s capable of sleeping alone. Brady’s scream wakes him around midnight, and Dean meets him at the door. With a shake of his head, Sam dismisses his brother, pushing into the room. The dark shape of Brady is thrashing on the bed as pleas and screams tear from his mouth. Pleas for it to stop, not to hurt him/them/ _Sam-_

As carefully as he can, Sam shakes Brady awake, holding his hands up in a placating gesture even as the blond scrambles backward from him. 

“It’s me,” Sam whispers. “Just me, Brady.” There’s no point in trying to say it was a nightmare. Sam knows it probably wasn’t. Gingerly, he sits on the edge of the bed and, after a moment of deliberation, opens his arms toward the quietly sobbing man on the bed. “C’mere.” 

Dragging Brady close, Sam leans up against the wall, just holding him as he tries to reign in his panic. It’s a long time before the tears and apologies run out, even longer before shaky breaths slow into deeper ones. Sam doesn’t sleep. He can’t, not yet. But there’s more hope in him now than he’s felt in months.


End file.
